Brother Is to Son

It seems unlikely that the awkward mythology of Daniel Smith-- the righteous, scripture-spouting founder of the Danielson Famile; the New ...

It seems unlikely that the awkward mythology of Daniel Smith-- the righteous, scripture-spouting founder of the Danielson Famile; the New Jersey graduate student who transformed his thesis into a theology-heavy debut record; the dude in the tree suit surrounded by wide-eyed kids dressed like doctors and nurses-- could ever be matched by his music. Except that Daniel Smith, recording here as Br. Danielson, is the proud owner of one of the most confounding and unapologetic human yelps ever committed to tape. Each note is a shambling, raucous mix of high-pitched squeak and frantic chant. And the best part is that Smith isn't quixotically crumpling to the ground, holding his nose and speaking-in-tongues, or perpetuating a new brand of cheeky faux-gospel-- he's actually singing, and it is actually insane.

Labelmate (and here, guest banjoist) Sufjan Stevens regularly performs live while wearing homemade angel wings, as his backing band forms a perfect line, horizontally spread on either side of him, sporting matching outfits (jeans, sneakers, loose white t-shirts, wings), all freshly scrubbed and calm. Br. Danielson embodies what it might sound like were Stevens' entire troupe to simultaneously go completely fucking bonkers-- reeling, horrifying, and surprisingly outlandish, yet still retaining an impressively pristine, Langley Schools-ish impishness: Danielson may seem crazy, but he is not without a certain childlike grace.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there's also something vaguely menacing about Br. Danielson, although it has less to do with frenzied morality and everything to do with general sonic precariousness. Swallow your fears of indoctrination and face this record as is: The religious undertones of Brother Is to Son, Smith's first record without the Danielson Famile, are mostly incidental. The hyper-aware will pluck out repeated references to righteousness, the devil, God, crosses, and purity-- though there are certainly no more of those here than on most country or metal records. In fact, any anxiety produced by Brother Is to Son's broadcast can be tied to Danielson as performer, not Danielson as prophet. Ultimately, it's Br. Danielson's sharp barks and frantic strumming that will test your patience, and not necessarily his moral/religious agenda: Shockingly, Smith's music actually manages to wholly supercede his reputation, burying avant-Christian doctrines in a flurry of banjo and drums.

Overall, Brother Is to Son is pulled a little too tight, and subsequently feels perpetually on the edge of collapse, as if Danielson's good intentions are just seconds away from bursting into a million flaming bits. The awkward push of his cartoonish squawks counters the gentle pull of his parables, a tension perfectly reflected in his choice of instrumentation: acoustic guitar backed by big, thunderous rock drumming. The resulting sound is both compelling and off-putting, and Brother Is to Son occasionally suffers from the repetition of its primary trick. Still, there's something hopelessly intriguing about Smith's particular brand of neo-folk, and his bizarre frenzy can be addictive-- Brother Is to Son has moments of perverse brilliance (opener "Things Against Stuff", which wonders, "Which side are you on? Who loves stuff? Who votes for things?") followed by bits of oddly palatable folk-psych ("Cookin' Mid-County", which admits, "This music/ It is killing us!").

With America more politically polarized than ever, and extremists on all sides becoming toothier by the second, it would be awfully easy to dismiss Br. Danielson as a novelty act, or as some kind of screeching religious missionary, sent to wash clean indie rock's many sins. Brother Is to Son is weird, but it's neither incomprehensible nor didactic. Consider yourself saved.